


A "Concerned" Snowball

by InquisiAzrael



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Pre-Relationship, Working out the kinks, developing background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 04:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8272864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InquisiAzrael/pseuds/InquisiAzrael
Summary: Azrael takes a not-so-short breather under not-so-hidden stares. After agreeing to join the Inquisition, the Dalish mage fights off the sorrow of loss as well as her conflicting views. She doesn’t brew alone for long before joined by Varric and his magnetic personality. A friendship begins, born from a nickname, continuous nit-picking, and a concerned snowball.





	

Azrael picked nervously at the cloth wrappings enveloping her wrists, idly rubbing a stray corner of the fabric between her thumb and forefinger. Lacking a better means to gauge her thinking, she stewed alone, sitting cross-legged near a small pine, irately observing the going-ons in front of Haven’s Chantry. She didn’t know any of these people, but they appeared to know her.

She could tell they took great pains to conceal it, as they spoke in huddled groups, as they passed by, their curious glances, awe radiating solely from their eyes. Practiced expressions.

Remind you of anyone? Of course they did, she thought. Only in this place, their eyes were bereft of contempt and loathing. Most of them, at least.

Occasionally she would catch whispers of her name, floating on the breeze with the lazy flakes as well as another label that she deeply despised. She wished she could somehow snatch it out of the air, crumple it up like a discarded note and burn it to ash. Sadly, it was impossible.

She wasn’t positive about the genre of their discussions, but she could guess… 

Maker-wrought prophet, or Dalish playing god? Both bit deep, chilling and uncomfortable, sitting on her skin as well as under it, like an invisible itch she couldn’t scratch away.

The snow she nestled in didn’t bother her, it barely soaked through her new garb. She had been provided with a uniform that just oozed her new alliance. While it made her clench her jaw, she had to admit that it was well crafted. Snug and warm, yet free and flexible, a perfect fit and suitable for a mage. What really set her teeth was that her word wasn’t enough for the adoring masses. Persistent masses she hoped desperately to dissuade. And by masses she meant this scrap of a village.

The elf had left the new advisers in a rush, greatly needing some time to breath, immediately plopping down once outside to really soak it all in.

She had agreed. Agreed to join this Inquisition. Agreed to join her former captors, the ones who had placed blame on her for the Breach and the Conclave. But after somehow closing it, she was suddenly seen as the Herald of Andraste.

A chunk of her bandage tore away, a result of the disgust she felt. These shems… No wonder they were called “quicklings”. She gazed at the remnant trapped between her fingers, turning it, pursing her lips, asking herself how idiotic she could really be.

Why had she agreed?! Dalish knife-ear, elven savage, barbarian, a scapegoat to the Chantry, the list was endless. And yet she had said yes. Why?

The elf flicked the shriveled cloth away, watching it dance and pirouette as feet or a sudden wind whisked it along.

Perhaps it was in spite, the fact being her home clan disdained her. She could see them now, sipping prized ale, toasting her treacherous voyage, pleased to be rid of the Outcast. But she could also see Deshanna, his worn face creased with fear, adding to the lines that had appeared over the years. Azrael shook her head involuntarily. He would be sick with worry for not hearing from her on their planned date.

They had agreed that Azrael would send Assanaral ahead with the information acquired during the Conclave, as well as news of her imminent return. The only problem was she had not seen him since before the explosion. Knowing the bird would prefer to remain outdoors, Azrael had let Assan go, prepared to locate him after the peace talks had ended.

Tears stung at the corners of her eyes. The crater left by the Breach spanned a massive area, obliterating not only the temple, but the surrounding forestland as well. Due to the temple’s mountainous location, the amount of tree cover was scarce and far between, leaving only a few places for the bird to perch. Assanaral would have been roosting in one of those trees when the blast hit.

“Regretting your decision already?”

Azrael started, looking to see the dwarf she had met some days ago stroll up, a sly grin on his face. It felt like she hadn’t seen him for ages. Although she had only been unconscious for three nights, it had felt like an eternity in that hellish world of dreams.

She quickly wiped away the tears that threatened to fall, frustrated that he had almost witnessed her cry. She stifled the urge to snap at the man, opting to breath deeply and calm her frazzled nerves rather then chase him away. When she turned to speak, her face was quiet, a small smile trying to peek out at the corners of her lips.

“Varric, right?”

“Humbly requesting the Herald’s audience.” He dipped low in a mocking bow, but quickly straightened, chuckling when he saw the look of utter disgust on Azrael’s face. “I’m only teasing, Rael. I wouldn’t want that title either. It’s a horrid label.” He adjusted one of his gloves, gesturing to the spot next to her. “May I?”

She nodded, watching as he noisily hunkered down. “And it’s Azrael.”

“I know that. I also know it’s lengthy. Too many syllables.” His fingers danced dismissively in the air. “Besides, nicknames are kind of my thing. It makes you unique. And… they kind of… help me remember.” His raspy laugh made brought a small smile to her face, its width broadening as she watched him rub the back of his neck guiltily.

They sat there, hunched against the feather-light breeze as it drifted along, quietly accepting the silence of one another. They watched Chantry sisters fuss, soldiers lounge, and groups shuffle past, almost all of which glanced over at the pair occasionally. Azrael could smell some concoction drifting by, a soup of some origin she had never tasted. She looked past the unpleasantness of her predicament, loosing herself briefly in the beauty of the Frostbacks, imaging a mountain trek without demons and falling chunks of the Fade, all the while being carried by the tantalizing scent of stewing meat.

A thudding caught her attention, bringing her troubled gaze to rest on the Inquisition’s new Commander, Cullen Rutherford. He was hammering a decorative sign onto the Chantry’s doors, one drowning in lengthy paragraphs and emblazoned symbols. Heads turned as people rushed up to view the announcement of the Inquisition. Grand Chancellor Roderick shoved past the excited group, a white robe of scorn storming off to wherever it is Chantry brothers go to fret. The crowd thickened evermore as word spread of the decree.

What were they thinking? Truly thinking? Did they really believe her to be Andraste’s Herald, sent here to help the Seeker close the Breach and heal the sky? Or were they merely intrigued by the painted rabbit? She had heard that one once when her clan had bumped into a noble’s caravan. That woman had gawked at them as if she had just discovered an entirely new species. Her own experiences most likely dealing with solely city elves, the blood writing of the Dalish throwing the woman completely off-kilter.

A distant thought drifted through her mind as she peered down at her bandages, thoughtfully admiring them. What had happened to that Solas fellow? She had seen both Cassandra and Varric after waking up, but still had not seen the elf. He did not bear vallaslin, so he must have been from an alienage or the like. Perhaps he had left, not wishing to soil his flat-eared feet further with the shems. She wasn’t one to judge, however. She probably would have left as well if not for Cassandra’s convincing argument. Her curious inquiries about the man were quickly replaced by the flustered noblewoman squealing like a child.

She had been hysterical to the point Azrael had feared she would reach for a net and somehow attempt to catch the painted rabbits. Even now she could hear the noble’s thick accent. If she had truly wanted to find a baffling specimen, she need not look further than a mirror. And Azrael wouldn’t have been surprised if it was included in that ridiculous headdress of hers.

“You still didn’t tell me why you were crying.”

“I wasn’t crying!” She clipped off the words, clenching her fists as she eyed the dwarf venomously, irritated that he continued to dig at her and disrupt her analysis of the shem’s criticizing glares.. 

Varric held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. You weren’t crying. But I can tell something’s bothering you. Another one of my many talents.” He boldly winked at the elf. Azrael rewarded him with a jutted jaw, a searing stare and shrewd silence.

Varric was unperturbed by her melancholy, his scruffy features softening, a concerned smile crossing his face but the jesting shimmer still lighting his eyes. He bent forward, inviting the elf to turn away from her scrutinizing and to listen instead to the dwarf.

“Honestly though, now that Cassandra’s out of earshot, are you holding up all right? I mean, joining the Inquisition and-”

“You already know about that?!” Her explosion caused the din to quiet momentarily in the yard as several surprised faces cast there way towards the elf and dwarf. 

“Cassandra filled us in while you were napping. It was kind of a secret before it was a secret, if that makes sense.” 

Her guffaw was ironic. “So, I hopped straight into a shem’s plan?! It didn’t just whiz into Cassandra’s head an hour ago? Fantastic!” She slouched into the cradle of her knees, her blonde hair falling in awkward swathes. Everything Deshanna had taught her to be cautious of was surfacing like a long lost nightmare. And what had she done? The complete opposite, all out of spite.

“Deshanna would be blown away by my shortsightedness. He’d probably throttle me out of sheer disbelief of my ignorance.” Her moaning was muffled, adding to the already pitiable ambiance.

“Deshanna probably would throttle you, whoever this Deshanna is.” Varric nonchalantly agreed, leaning back on his hands. “Hell, I would throttle you!”

Azrael groaned into her knees, receiving a soft chuckle from Varric. “Not only were you the most wanted criminal in Thedas, but now you join the armies of the faithful? Most people would have spread that out over more than one day. But you? Nooooo. You just dived right into the thick of it. Whether you volunteered to or not, I don’t want to know.” He paused momentarily, looking over at the origamied elf. “But that’s what I like about you, Rael.”

Something caused Azrael to lift her head slightly, something in his tone when he called her by his preferred nickname. Her eyes peeked through the veil of blonde, searching the dwarf’s face.

“You remind me of a few of my friends back in Kirkwall. Sure, every time I become involved with people like them, it always has an interesting ending, to say the least. But I would go anywhere with them at my back.”

He paused, looking at the sky, reminiscing most likely. Azrael sat up a little further. “Why are you telling me this?”

He turned towards the elf, cocking his head with a mix of amusement and sadness. “What I’m trying to say is I have experience with complicated individuals. I can tell this whole Herald idea is hitting you hard.” He placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “But I know that that isn’t what’s bothering you.”

She wanted to cry right then and there. She didn’t know why and she didn’t care. It was the fact that this dwarf, a man who barely knew her, was showing such incredible understanding, such kindness, though a bit abrasive at times, towards her. Her. Not for who she might be or who she is, but for who he believes her to be.

And now she wanted to tell him everything. Everything about her troubled and dark life, but she continued to hold back, unable to open up so soon after joining something she shamelessly dove into. But she could tell him one thing.

“Assanaral…”

“Gazuntite.”

She couldn’t stop the smile this time. “Varric, Assanaral is the reason why I was cr-… concerned.”

“Mhmm. Concerned.” He threw quotes in the air, receiving a faceful of snow in return. Sputtering past the snowball and his groping hands, Varric continued. “Old friend back home?”

“In a sense.”

Varric cocked an eyebrow, it’s length still harboring flakes that shook free with the motion. A wicked grin flashed across his face.

“Ohhhh. A lover then?”

Once more, a wave of snow came flying at him, but he was prepared, fending off the powder with a raised arm.

Azrael scoffed. “As if I would find one of those in my clan. No, Varric, he’s my bird.”

“You have a raven? Watch out for Leliana than, she’ll hunt you down if she finds out….. When she finds out, I should say, because believe me, she will. She knows everything that goes on, and it’s all thanks to those birds of hers. They’re treated like kings by Leliana, better than she treats her agents some would say. She adores her ravens.”

“Well I doubt Leliana has met a bird like Assan. He’s a Valraven. A rare subspecies of the ravens used to bear messages. He was…” She trailed off, unable to continue for fear of losing it.

“Was?” Varric ventured carefully.

Azrael bit her lip, swallowing past the lump forming in her throat. “He- He had traveled to the Conclave with me, but I wasn’t about to bring a bird like that near any shems. Being raised by myself within a Dalish clan, he isn’t one to be friendly. I let him fly off to do what birds do. But then the blast, and all of this, and…and… Well, you can guess the rest.”

They both were silent then, Azrael fighting off aggravating tears and Varric quietly waiting for her to compose herself.

She did after several moments, brushing back tousled locks, sucking on her lips as she abruptly breathed through her nose. She drummed her fingers on her knee as she glanced at the dwarf, smiling resolutely.

“Well, I better get back in there. I kind of left in a dignified hurry.” She stood, brushing off the thin layer of powder lining her trousers. “Plus, they said I could help unfurl our banner if I agreed to join.” She eyed him devilishly before they both burst into laughter.

When they finally restrained their heaving sides, Azrael paused, looking down at the reclining dwarf. “Thanks, Varric.”

“My pleasure, Rael. We’ll catch a drink sometime, eh? Drown out our sorrows?”

“Sounds like the breweries better make a run for it. From what I read, you’ve got just as many sorrows as I do.”

His eyes brightened as he sat up. “You’ve read my book?!”

Azrael winked over her shoulder at the man, sealing the promise of future sharings, both of stories and ale. But not before she dodged a well-aimed and vengeful snowball.

**Author's Note:**

> Not the most interesting piece (then again a lot of them might not be quite yet heh...), but it's introductory and story-building. Thanks for sticking with it and any Kudos! ^^  
> Shout out to my darling little sister for helping me pick out this wonderfully adorable title.
> 
> If you enjoy my work here, check out my tumblr at inquisiazrael.tumblr.com. I am more active on that site and my writings are posted there ahead of AO3.


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